The Rumpus review of Jennifer S. Cheng’s “Moon: Letters, Maps, Poems”

Reading Moon was a hypnotic experience for me, simultaneously immersive and elusive. I’d surface from the pages having lost track of time, sensing the world around me had shifted, subtly, but unable to pinpoint how. How, after all, do you describe the force field of a particular literary project, the gravitational pull of a fellow writer’s work?

Reading Moon was a hypnotic experience for me, simultaneously immersive and elusive. I’d surface from the pages having lost track of time, sensing the world around me had shifted, subtly, but unable to pinpoint how. How, after all, do you describe the force field of a particular literary project, the gravitational pull of a fellow writer’s work?